


Token of Endearment

by lea_hazel



Series: Decline and Fall [5]
Category: Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem (Visual Novel)
Genre: Arland, Arranged Marriage, Birthday, F/M, Frenemies, Presents, Princes & Princesses, Revaire, Rivalry, Royalty, Secret Relationship, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 17:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13746057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/pseuds/lea_hazel
Summary: Verity knows approximately when her eighteenth birthday is supposed to be. She doesn't expect a celebration, let alone several surprising gifts for the occasion. Of course, in Revaire, nothing can ever be a simple kindness.





	Token of Endearment

**Author's Note:**

> Content note for some sexist language at the very beginning. 
> 
> Also, later on there are extended demo spoilers for the sheltered princess's personal plot.

Strictly speaking, Verity had been too young to attend the summit, shy of her eighteenth birthday by a few crucial months. Her parents -- her father, really -- had elected to send her anyway, reasoning that the difference between seventeen and eighteen wasn't so very large. If they tried to find her an Arlish husband, all prospective matches would be wondering why the younger Princess was considered too defective for international diplomacy. If they waited until the next summit to send her, she would be nearly twenty five, and no man would choose day-old bread when he could have a fresh-baked roll.

She remembered their conversation as vividly as the day she first overheard it, but when she recalled it out loud she spoke of it lightly. It was not so unusual a thing to hear in Arland, although normally it was gossip about the ladies of the court and their prospects. One rarely spoke this way of a lady to her face. Her father must not have realized she was still listening.

Verity didn't think much of mentioning this at tea with her sister-to-be. When she glanced sidelong at the icy Princess, though, she caught a brief flash of something alien flitting over her face. Not an expression she'd ever expected to see on Gisette's ivory-sculpted face and, she had to admit, not one that pleased her. Ordinarily she might have felt a glimmer of triumph at disconcerting the imperturbable Princess. Being on the receiving end of what looked a lot like pity was not the way she would have chosen to do so.

The Princess recovered quickly, of course, resuming her customary affected sweetness. "Do you have a birthday coming up, then, dear Verity?" she said, all honey. "I hope we didn't miss the occasion. That would be tragic."

"Not at all, sister," said Verity airily. "It will be in two weeks or so, I believe."

"Are you not quite sure, Princess Verity?" asked Lady Heloise with a bright, careless laugh.

"Darling, don't be crass," said Lady Roxana, nudging her with an elbow. " _I_  think we ought to throw the Princess a little birthday party. One doesn't turn eighteen every day."

"No," said Gisette thoughtfully, "one doesn't."

Roxana waited on her word and, when such wasn't forthcoming, ventured to ask, "Shall I arrange all the details, Your Highness?"

Gisette nodded tersely. "I leave the matter in your capable hands, Roxana."

After that strange little exchange, the conversation returned to safer avenues.

Verity wasn't terribly concerned about the party, except to impress upon her new seamstress that she must have something suitable to wear. Her birthday had never been a matter of much note back in Arland, and she wasn't used to thinking of it as an occasion worth marking. Besides which, there were far more significant implications to her turning eighteen. For one thing, it meant that at last she was old enough to legally marry. The King and Queen, of course, could have overridden the laws if they wanted to, but they apparently saw no need to hasten the affair past its current planning stages. A formality, then, was all it was meant to be. She put the matter out of her mind until the day of the party.

For all she neglected it herself, the rest of the world, it seemed, was not prepared to forget Verity's eighteenth birthday. In the week leading up to the date of her celebration, packages arrived by courier from both Arland and Corval, and even one from Wellin. Her mother sent a letter somehow both affectionate and formal in tone, which Verity read more warmly than she would have guessed of herself. Much dearer, of course, was the small token from Constance, whose ' _terrible tragedy_ ' was still recent news in Revaire.

Even her friends from the summit had not forgotten her, although how they managed to find out the exact date she couldn't say. Well, that was not strictly true. It wasn't hard to imagine Zarad puzzling it out, and Emmett had known her practically since they were babies. They both sent gifts, as did Penelope and Lisle. They warmed her heart when she opened them, and she stashed each one deep in the trunk at the foot of her bed. She carried that warmth with her throughout the day of the celebration.

The party ran rather late, and left her with only enough time to freshen up before dinner. She would certainly catch the Queen's ire for not wearing a fresh dress, but at least she knew that the outfit she had on was the very best she owned. Her maids had only time for the most necessary corrections, and she was still powdering herself when a heavy knock came at her door.

"A sound so light and graceful can only belong to one man," said Verity to her mirror, and her maids tittered and giggled. "Oh, let him in already, before he breaks the door down."

"I'm under orders to escort you to dinner," said Jarrod when he was let in.

"Thank you," said Verity.

He had just enough self-awareness to look abashed instead of sulky when she took his offered arm.

"You look very nice," he muttered under his breath just as they were approaching the doors to the dining hall.

"Thank you," said Verity again.

Clearly he was under the strictest supervision. When they entered the room, she thought he might even pull out her chair for her. Instead, he shuffled over to where his mother sat at the head of the table and accepted what looked like a small, painted box from her. Verity could hardly stifle her curiosity enough to keep from fidgeting. She clasped her hands harder together as a counter-measure.

Jarrod presented her with the box silently and, glancing at the Queen for approval, Verity flipped open the lid with her fingertips. Inside was a brightly sparkling necklace set with several dozen of some kind of red-orange iridescent stone. The warm yellow light of the dining hall lamps danced on the stones and their gold setting so enticingly that she didn't even have to fake a gasp.

"How thoughtful!" she said, raising her eyes to his. "Thank you."

Jarrod shifted uncomfortably in his place and indicated that she should turn around so he could clasp it around her neck.

She was gathering her hair to keep it out of the way when she happened to glance up at the gathered royals. Gisette looked bored, as she often did at dinner. The Queen, however, was wearing a tiny smirk of satisfaction, presumably at having managed to direct her son's actions so acceptably. Or perhaps she was finally beginning to approve of her new daughter, but Verity didn't count that very likely. The King's expression caught her by surprise. He was watching them both intently, a deep scowl etched on his face.

Verity sucked in a hard breath at the feeling of cold hands on her neck.

"What is it?" demanded Jarrod from behind her.

"Nothing, it's fine," she murmured.

When at last the necklace was secured, he did indeed pull out her chair and the family settled to dinner. It was no more cold or unwelcoming than usual, and the food was unusually good. On the whole, she counted it a successful meal even before the Queen sent the maids to bring in a big Arland-style birthday confection. After that the Queen served cordial in the den while Jarrod excused himself as soon as he reasonably could.

"Don't mind the sourpuss," said the Queen to Verity, almost warmly. "He hates it when anything isn't about him."

Verity only just managed to raise her hand in time to hide her giggle.

"Thank you for tonight," she said earnestly. "It was a lovely birthday celebration."

The Queen waved a hand at her airily. "Go on, girl," she said. "Wherever it is you go in the evenings. No need to stay here with an old lady like me on your birthday." Her hand descended to cover her eyes.

Verity shifted in her seat and glanced at Gisette for guidance.

Gisette delicately shrugged one shoulder and tilted her head in the direction of the door.

Slowly, Verity rose to her feet and retreated, step by slow step, out into the corridor. Gisette remained alone with the Queen, pressing a hand on top of her mother's hand where it was lying limply on the chair's arm-rest. She closed the door behind her very softly so as not to interrupt them. Whatever they were doing had the feeling of a family ritual into which she was, mercifully, not yet inducted.

With her duties to the family discharged, she could go almost anywhere within the confines of the Old Palace and no one would question her right to be there. Not that there was much in the great old building to entice her. Well, anywhere but the library, but that was past the door she had only just shut, and besides, she felt no desire to go there just now. Instead she climbed the steep old stone steps and found her way up to the battlements.

She pulled her wrap tightly around her shoulders against the night's chill and sat down, tucking herself into an embrasure in the thick stone walls. The walkway behind the battlements was abandoned, for the moment, although she knew she'd seen guards walking along it at other times. The dark was almost perfect, if she didn't look down into the city proper, and the only sounds were faint and distant. This late at night, the air smelled crisp, cleaner and colder than the warm, stuffy air inside the castle that she breathed all day and night. Soon she would be too chilled to stay up here so long, but for the moment, she was alone.

She watched the clouds move over the starry sky for a short while, thinking over everything that had happened over the past three or four months. Almost two months at Vail Isle, and counting the trips both to and from it, and it still hadn't been quite four months since she'd last seen Arland. She wondered a little, in detachment, whether she would ever see it again. She also wondered whether her father would send anyone to her wedding.

Well, of course he would send _someone_ , but the question was whether it would be anyone who _mattered_. Or just a new ambassador. She would have rather liked to see the Lord Chancellor again, if only for the chance at a familiar face. She hardly knew most of the diplomats in her father's service, largely because none of them had daughters her age. She wondered, also, what the Lord Chancellor would have to say about her current predicament, whether he would approve of the maneuvers she'd had to execute to secure herself this position. As secure as it was not.

Introspection got old rather quickly, and the wind was turning bitter. Clouds obscured more and more of the night sky, now less of a lovely tapestry and more a threat of storms to come. Gathering the folds of her clothing around her, Verity got up and picked her way back down the stairs to the castle interior. She was rounding the turn to a landing lit by a single lamp when her eye caught a glimpse of something in the shadows that made her freeze.

She stood very still while the pulse in her veins picked out an outrageous tempo.

The shadows swayed, and a familiar figure stepped into the circle of light from the only lamp.

Instead of calming down, her heart rate only quickened, and heat rushed to her face.

"Princess," said King Hyperion. "Rather a curious location you've picked for your evening walk."

"Pardon me," said Verity. "I was looking at the stars."

He smiled thinly, but did not make any move, or speak.

Shaking herself mentally, Verity asked, "Were you looking for me, Your Majesty?"

"A maid spotted you going in this direction," he said. "I came to give you your birthday present."

Her hand flew up to touch the necklace at her throat, and she saw the old scowl from before flitting over his face.

"No," he said. "Not that."

The landing was not very large, and it took him no time at all to crowd her against the bare stone wall. He radiated heat, while the stone against her back was cold even through her layers of clothing. When he touched her face the breath caught in her throat, which made him smile.

"Your gift, little princess," he said.

And he leaned down to press his mouth against hers, very briefly.

Her eyes fluttered closed for just a breath, which she realized immediately was a critical mistake. She snapped them back open to find him staring her down intently, a faint smile on his face. While she tried not to think about the fact that this was technically her first kiss, his thumb moved idly over her cheek, then down to flit over her lower lip. She made a sound deep in her throat that she'd never heard come out of her mouth before, and certainly hadn't intended to make.

His smile grew wider, sharper, more predatory. Closing his hand around the back of her neck, he drew her in for a second kiss. This one was slow and thorough. In the moment when his lips touched hers she gasped and felt a chill running all down her body. This he took as a sign, both to press her body closer against his, and to slip his tongue into her mouth, which took her completely by surprise.

Verity's heart was pounding, and through the cloudedness of her mind she could discern only the heat and pressure of his body and the thundering sound of her own heartbeat. When at last he released her and drew back his face just a little from hers, she was panting as though she'd run halfway across the city. She struggled to piece her thoughts together until, valiantly, one of them broke through the haze.

"That was my gift?" she asked. "A kiss?"

But it was not just a kiss, even if it was her first. Pressed close to him, alone in the shadows and cold of the parapet, where no one could pass by mistakenly and see him. This was no gift. Instead it was half threat, half promise, and Verity couldn't begin to tell how she felt about it. Not with him standing right there, a warm and solid distraction.

"Was it not a grand enough gift for the princess?" asked Hyperion. "Would you like another?"

_Yes!_  screamed in five voices somewhere in the back of her mind, but Verity shook her head firmly. Almost as though she was refusing herself, not the man before her.

Finally, he released his grip on the back of her head, his hand sliding over her neck and shoulder, then softly stroking her cheek. She tried hard not to lean into the touch, as if she might belatedly talk sense into her foolish self and undo this entire debacle. Whatever was going through Hyperion's head at that moment, it was a complete mystery to her. She couldn't read him, and it worried her.

"Don't frown at me like that," said Hyperion, smoothing his thumb over her drawn forehead. "It was only a little kiss. Don't let it go to your head."

She opened her mouth to say something scathing, but what came out was, "I have to go."

"Go on, then," he said, dropping his hand to his side. "It's rather late for little princesses to be out and about."

Without another word she turned around and, grabbing handfuls of her skirts, took herself back down the winding staircase and out of his line of sight. She heard footsteps echoing behind her and surmised that he was heading up to the battlements, where she'd been until only a few moments ago. In the quiet of the empty parapet, she stood still for a few moments, waiting for her breathing and her heart to calm. She felt wound as tight as a spring, and not just from nerves.

Although she had to admit that King Hyperion was making her increasingly nervous. Not that she hadn't anticipated that when she decided to come to Revaire. Only that her nerves had taken on a wildly different tenor than anything she could have possibly imagined. One that could make her blood quicken all over again, if she didn't stop thinking about it just now. Instead she tried to push the matter out of her mind for long enough to make a quiet and dignified retreat to her own bedroom, where she could be alone with her thoughts.

And where she would most likely do something that would have gotten her name stricken from the Arland genealogy, if anyone ever knew about it.


End file.
